


Papercut

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist!Scorpius, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Instability, Quidditch Star!James, Rock Star!Albus, Separation Anxiety, papercut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't be stupid."</p><p>"Too late."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papercut

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends.
> 
> So I started writing this quite some time ago and finally finished it. This is actually a follow up piece to King and Lionheart, so if you haven't read that one, I suggest you read it first so you know what is going on. ;) I would link it if I could figure out how, but it's in my works. Peep it! 
> 
> Please also mind the tags. ;)
> 
> As always, endless worship and adoration to my bae, Unkissed. <3  
> (I'll make you love it yet!)

“…Just get your arse back to London in one piece.” You say, and you are kneeling down in front of a large fireplace, smiling at Jamie’s head stuck up from the middle of the flames.

 

He laughs at your cheek and says he “makes no promises,” which makes your mouth curve into an amused smirk.

 

When the conversation is over you are left sitting in the middle of a very empty sitting room that belongs with the equally empty loft that you now call your own. You had always dreamed of having your own place after Hogwarts and now here you were, out there in the great big world all by your lonesome.

 

Your mother had insisted on sending her interior decorator around when you broke the news to her that you would be venturing out on your own, and although you had tried to politely decline, she would hear nothing of it.

 

Your father and Uncle Theo had been out of the country when you found the place and although you sent them an owl explaining the fact that you wouldn’t be living with them anymore, you had yet to hear anything back in response.

 

It has been less than a year since you left Hogwarts for the last time but it feels like a lifetime. You haven’t spoken to Albus or your fathers and all of your friends were headed in opposite directions to pursue their own future—And then there is you. The anxious little boy pretending he knew what he was doing. It doesn’t matter that the hollow sound of rain bouncing off the walls terrifies you or that the idea of closing yourself into this vacant loft every night was enough to set your teeth chattering against one another. This was something that you had to do, at least if you expected to retain even a shred of your sanity.

 

When you push yourself to your feet your knees ache from holding your weight for an extended period of time and you find yourself wincing slightly as you pad silently across the floor to the oversized windows that covered most of the west wall. You look out over the city below that is buried under relentless sleet and you can’t help but wonder if this was a mistake. You raise a hand and place it against the window, the cold from the outside quickly seeping through the thick panes of glass and hollowing out your skin. Despite your newly acquired freedom you feel like a caged animal that is on display and you wonder how many sets of eyes are waiting to see you fall.

 

You find your way to the kitchen and set the kettle to work with a wave of your wand and as you stand there with the silence slowly closing in all around you, you bite down on your bottom lip and shut your eyes. You are nineteen years old and you feel like a child who is lost and you cannot help but wonder if it will always be like this.

 

A knock on the door wakes you the next morning and you stifle a yawn and sit up. Your back is stiff from sleeping on the floor and you squint at the bare windows and wonder who could be calling so early.

 

When you open the door of the loft just enough to peer out between the crack a haughty looking man in an expensive aubergine suit is staring back at you. “Master Malfoy, I presume?” He says while raising a severely groomed brow and giving you a judging once-over through the small space.

 

“Yes?” You say with sleep still clinging to your voice.

 

“My name is Philippe, your mother sent me.” His brow does not move from its position near his hairline as he speaks rather matter o-factly, which you find unsettling. Of course, your mother’s decorator—How could you forget?

 

“Come in,” you say amidst another stifled yawn as you open the door and step aside.

 

Philippe sweeps past you in a swirl of designer cologne that you don’t find nearly as offensive as you should because you’ve grown up with your father and you are _definitely_ used to it. He says nothing at all to you as he makes himself at home in your loft, moving from corner to corner while muttering disapprovingly under his breath. You take to trailing after him, not because you are curious so much as you still had some manners and didn’t want to appear rude.

 

“I don’t generally take jobs on this side of town.” He says while standing near the windows, his gaze falling on the pile of rumpled blankets that you had slept on. He sounds as if the very idea of decorating your loft is extremely off putting, which you don’t actually mind one bit. “But, your mother is one of my favorite customers so I suppose,” He pauses as he twirls around where he stands to eye the room, tapping a finger against his pursed lips. “…I shall make an exception.” 

 

“How nice.” You reply flatly before turning away from him and heading for the kitchen to put on the kettle.

 

You can hear the soft click of his Louboutin loafers as he follows after you, shooting questions at your retreating form in quick succession.

 

When Philippe asks you if you prefer _cools_ or _neutrals_ you shrug a shoulder without looking at him. When he asks you what you would like to see in the space, you say ‘furniture’ and he clucks his tongue disapprovingly.  When he asks your favorite color you tell him you don’t have one and he purses his lips together because he realizes that this is going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

 

He is just about to ask you another question when you hold up a hand and shake your head, which causes his brow to arch sharply again. “Look, I don’t even want you here but my mother insisted so just…do whatever you want.” Philippe’s expression is withering at best and although you don’t outwardly show it, you are terribly amused. Finally he nods firmly just once and turns on his heels towards the door. “Just get me a bed.” You call after him, which he responds to with a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

 

When you are alone again you heave a quiet sigh and glance around the loft. You had chosen this particular location because it was an open and blank slate and it reminded you of better times at Hogwarts. Of course you knew you were acting silly, clinging to the past, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

 

You take your steaming mug with you as you cross the room towards the windows and peer out over the world beyond and you can’t help but wonder if there would ever be a time when you would fit in out there somewhere.

 

The following two weeks Philippe has your loft transformed into a construction zone that you haven’t the patience to deal with and so you make yourself scarce instead. You spend your days wandering the refurbished streets of Hackney and loitering in various cafés and sidewalk eateries until the sun disappears and you are so cold that you have no choice but to return to your loft that is tucked away right in the middle of a tall building in Dalston square. Large sheets of plastic hang from the ceiling and divide the space into shadowy, separate rooms that make you feel vaguely uncomfortable. You curl up in the single chair that has been afforded you and you stare out the windows and wait for this all to pass. 

 

During your exploration of your new city you discover two things—Hackney is a diverse community that is brimming with integrity and possibility that you are already in love with, and your favorite café is a dimly lit pay-as-you-go on the corner across the street from your building.

 

On the days you don’t feel like exploring you occupy the comfortable orange velvet armchair by the window of the café and listen to the sounds of life happening all around you. Sometimes someone will play a record on the old phonograph sitting on a table beside a stack of muggle records and you will close your eyes and try and sketch blindly on the pad of parchment in your lap. This is how your first fortnight out on your own passes you by and before you even know it, Philippe has finished invading your loft and you are once again alone in a garishly decorated space.   

 

In the dark you lie in the middle of your bed and stare at the ceiling because you can’t sleep. Despite your eagerness to separate yourself from what your life has become you feel lost and alone and each passing minute those feelings consume you a little bit more. Most nights you give up on sleeping entirely and while away the hours on half-finished canvases that slowly start overtaking the loft. You sleep in short; fitful blocks of time when you can no longer keep your eyes open and you try your best to just _live._ You aren’t foolish enough to believe that venturing out on your own can fix you and your myriad of problems but you refuse to let anyone see you fail and so you push aside all of your worry and do your best to carry on.

 

It is three weeks later when you speak to Jamie again and he sounds so fucking happy that you cannot help but feel inwardly jealous. You don’t understand how other people can live their lives so seamlessly and find happiness and meaning while you are barely getting by. You tell yourself that life isn’t fair and you are still searching for someone to blame.  Jamie tells you all about the amazing time he’s having being an up and coming Quidditch star and although you would very much like to be happy for him, you are secretly hoping he will give up his dreams and come home because the suffocating sounds of silence all around you are slowly driving you insane. “Don’t be stupid,” he says before pulling his head out of the fire and when you are alone you laugh at yourself and wonder if that is Jamie’s way of telling you he cares or merely a reflection of how he sees you. 

 

The solitude never becomes something you are accustomed to and you still have more trouble sleeping than you rightfully should, which is how you find yourself one evening just before dawn. You curl up in an obnoxious lime green chair by the window with a stale edition of the evening Prophet and a cup of tea and try your best to find some sort of amusement in browsing the want ads. It isn’t hard to miss the large article regarding the Potter family adorning the bottom half of the first page and despite your better judgment you read the headline—Later you will blame this act on sleep deprivation.

 

The moving photograph depicts the Potter family as you had come to know them growing up. Ginny and Harry flank their children with loving smiles that you know first hand are the real thing. Lily is standing slightly in front of her father and smiling directly at the camera, reaching up to smooth her hair over and over as the picture resets itself. Albus is in the middle looking vaguely awkward and it makes you smile sadly because you are still so adept at reading him that you know exactly what he is thinking. James is standing beside Ginny and you find it slightly strange that he isn’t looking at the camera so much as he is casting repeated clandestine gazes at Teddy Lupin, who is hovering behind Harry. You don’t even bother reading the story and instead you stare down at the photographic depiction of what happiness looks like and you have never felt more alone than you do at that moment. Before you can think to stop it, the anxiety of being truly alone starts to eat away at you and by the time you toss the paper aside and clamber out of your ugly green chair it is too late.

 

You pace the walls of your flat for so long that the concept of time and space escapes you. You think about Albus and Jamie and you wonder how someone as insignificant as yourself could fuck up so many lives simultaneously. The image of Ginny’s smiling face burns itself into your mind’s eye and you feel hopeless and jealous because you think that maybe if you had been born to a different mother, things could have been different. You wallow in despair because you are the king of self-depreciation and it is all you’ve ever known. You tell yourself that life isn’t fucking fair and you silently vow to yourself that you can overcome any obstacle that is thrown at you, but you don’t really believe that because you are liar too.

 

By the time you drop down in the middle of your bed the sun has already risen and you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the brightness. You think you should have asked Philippe for darker drapery and you choke out a strangled laugh that sounds broken and distorted. When you finally drift off to sleep it is fitful and twisted with dark visions that make you cry out to people that will never hear you.

 

_This is your life, and it is ending one minute at a time._

 

 

James surprises you with a visit the first week of December and you are so overwhelmed by human contact that you don’t even notice the look on his face when he steps into your loft for the first time. Stacks of half-finished canvases lean against just about every vertical space and the flat surfaces are scattered with mugs of old tea and coffee in various stages of decay. Somewhere inside you know that you should be ashamed of the chaotic mess that is your life, but you ignore it all and follow him around like a love-starved animal instead.

 

“How long has it been since you’ve been outside?” He asks as he circles the large room, pausing to finger through a stack of canvases.

 

You actually have to stop a minute and turn your brain on to think because you really don’t remember the last time you left the flat. You stand there and scratch your head and James laughs at you and shakes his head, clearly amused by your steady slide into insanity. “Get dressed, we’re going out.” He says as he stares out the large windows to the thriving city below. When he glances over his shoulder in your direction and smiles your insides tense up and you manage a shaky nod before doing as instructed.

 

The sights and the sounds of life surge at you from all sides the moment you leave the loft and you scramble for your sunglasses because the brightness is making your eyes water. James laughs again at your side and when he reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together your pulse instantly smoothes out.

 

It doesn’t take long for you to acclimate and before you even know it you feel less like a vampire out in the daylight and more like a normal human being living his life. You know that you have Jamie to thank for this stay of sanity and you also know that it is going to break you when he leaves again, but you don’t think about that right now because denial is just another bad habit that you are _really_ fucking good at. 

 

By the time you find yourself back in your flat with James the sun has set and the coldness of the season presses against your windows, begging to be let inside. Jamie sprawls out on a rug by the fireplace and watches you paint and you feel so swollen with feeling and emotion that your hand shakes. When you can’t take the separation anymore you drop your brush into a cup of solvent and turn around to face him. He lifts a brow as you drop down on all fours at the edge of the rug and crawl towards him, and when you hover over him, his mouth curves into a smug grin that you want to drown in. “You missed me,” He says, and it’s not so much a question as it is a statement that makes you bite the corner of your bottom lip.

 

You forgo words for a nod of your head and when you lower your head down to kiss him he tastes like cream and sweet tea. Your tongue drags along the seam of his lips, begging for entry that is willingly given to you. He tastes so good that it floods your senses and makes you dizzy and drunk. You take your time exploring and tasting every inch of him because you know he’s right—You _did_ miss him.

 

“I could keep you here forever,” You murmur against his throat between open-mouthed kisses that leave marks.

 

“You could try.” He counters with a throaty chuckle that you swallow with another kiss meant to devour.

 

It takes you mere minutes to divest him of his clothes and when he stretches out beneath you like a preening bird, your throat goes dry and your world tilts right on its axis. You’ve been living in solitude for months and every second that you spend with him makes you more and more aware of the startling fact that you cannot do this alone. When you press inside of him, his back arches off the rug and he lets out a whimper that is like music to your ears. His skin is mottled with a flush that you imagine is for you alone and every inch of his body welcomes you home in ways that break you down.  You feel renewed and reborn and when you bury yourself inside of him one more time, you close your eyes and let everything go.

 

James stays with you for almost a week before he has to return to Dorset for the coming season. You spend five entire days and nights basking in his soothing light in a desperate attempt to retain it after he is gone. Of course, you aren’t really foolish enough to believe that you can fight the darkness all on your own but it is a lovely pipe dream that you like to think about when he is sleeping softly beside you.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” He says with a knapsack slung over his shoulder and a knowing smile.

 

You want to be happy for him and you think that you should be thankful for the time you have spent together, but you are selfish and so you frown and avert your gaze instead.

 

“Too late.” You murmur without looking up, and when he lifts your chin up with the tip of his index finger to peer into your eyes, you wonder what he must truly think of you.

 

It had never been voiced aloud, but you were not foolish enough to believe that your relationship with Jamie has ever been anything other than a well-kept secret. You have no idea if James is just trying to avoid hurting his brother or if he is embarrassed to be openly connected to you, and although you understand the reasons behind the secrecy, it hurts you more deeply than anything else you’ve ever felt. When you are once again, on your own, you slip back into your destructive habits with more ease than should be humanly possible. Chaotic and abandoned canvases in varying degrees of lucidity quickly over take your loft and you avoid sleep because you are afraid to dream. When you can no longer fight the pull of exhaustion you turn to questionable potions to keep you awake and you never once stop to think of the consequences.

 

It is well into spring when you hear a knock on the door of your loft and you glance up from a canvas, brush pausing mid-stroke. You haven’t heard from Jamie in nearly a fortnight and you can’t stop the surge of anticipation you feel when you think it might be his way of surprising you. You drop your brush in the paint-stained cup and scramble for the door, pausing only long enough to drag fingers through limp strands of your hair and frown at your hollow reflection in the mirror. When you open the door your excitement is quickly sucked right out of you and you feel like you cannot breath because you had not been prepared for who was standing on the other side.

 

Albus stares at you with an obvious and clear mixture of shock and what you assume is pity. He had contemplated coming to see you while he was in town, and although he had known it would be awkward, he had never expected what he was met with. His voice escapes him as he stands there staring blankly at you, wondering what happened and where things went so wrong for you. The white t-shirt and distressed jeans that you are wearing hang off of your skeletal form in unflattering angles and it is impossible for him to ignore the dark circles that etch out the skin around your eyes. Albus wants to ask you how you’ve been but he thinks it is pretty fucking clear and so he averts his gaze and rubs the back of his head nervously instead. “What happened to you?” He whispers as his green eyes find their way back to you, and the question is so honest that it splinters your insides clean in half.

 

Several agonizing seconds tick past before you manage a smile and shake your head, which only makes him frown more deeply. “What are you doing here?” You ask instead, ignoring his question because Albus has always been the only person you cannot lie to.

 

“Two-night gig down in The Square.” He says with a smile as he shifts from one foot to the other. “I heard you had a place here, thought it would be good to catch up.” He adds with a smile that quivers at the corners.

 

You stare blankly at him for another extended moment, wondering if perhaps you were still in bed and this was some sort of living nightmare you were trapped in. You haven’t had to think about Albus for so long that you are not sure you remember how, and although you are a sucker for pain, this kind hurts just a little _too_ much. “I…” You start before shaking your head and heaving a cleansing breath, determined to at least _appear_ somewhat sane.  “Sorry, come in, yeah?” You open the door up and step aside to allow him entry into your own personal corner of hell and you silently hope to the fucking gods above that Albus still cares about you enough not to judge you too much.

 

Albus steps inside and tries not to let it show how shocked he is by all that he is seeing. He is stunned because he has never seen this side of you before and he wonders if it has always been hiding inside of you.  “Working hard?” He asks with a nervous laugh as he moves over to stand before the easel holding up your current unfinished piece.

 

“Something like that, yeah.” You say as you watch him survey your varying degrees of madness with a grim smile.

 

Albus peers at the wet paint splashed across the stark white canvas for a long time trying to assimilate the harsh strokes into living images that he can understand. The color palate is a myriad of greens and browns and although he feels vaguely connected to the colors, he doesn’t yet realize why. “It’s good.” He murmurs as he cocks his head to the side for a different perspective that makes you smile faintly.  

 

“You don’t even know what it is,” You say before you can stop yourself and when his gaze cuts to you, it is unreadable.

 

“Well, no,” He says with a grin as his gaze returns to the canvas. “But it’s still good. Some sort of countryside, yeah?”

 

You smile at his words and nod as you move around a set of ugly green armchairs to stand at his side. “It’s the marsh, at least, what I remember of it.” You are looking at the painting as you speak but you still feel his piercing emerald gaze cut right through you. You have no idea what is happening or why Albus, of all people, has shown up on your doorstep while you were painting visions of his childhood. If you were someone else you might think it was fate toying with you, but you don’t believe in fate and so you just shrug a shoulder and smile instead.

 

“We used to have so much fun back there.” Albus’ voice sounds far away and you find yourself tearing your gaze away from the painting to look at him instead. He offers you a sad smile that you easily return and before he can think to notice the glassiness in your eyes you turn your attention back to the painting and start talking like distraction. “Once it’s finished it will _really_ come to life.” You say with a smile, and although Albus has no idea that you have yet to actually see a piece through to completion, it is a nice dream to think that perhaps this one was the one that would change everything.

 

“How do you mean?” He asks, genuinely curious.

 

“Integration.” You say, glancing sidelong at him before continuing. “It’s sort of like a marriage of magic and static art. When you integrate the two into one piece of art, the results are quite unique.”

 

Albus cannot help but smile as you speak because he can clearly see the love you harbor for your art in your words and expressions, even through the muddied layers of your own self-destruction. “Can I see it?” He blurts out almost immediately, which catches you off guard. “When it’s finished, I mean.” He adds with a laugh that reminds you of the Albus you used to know.

 

“Of course.” Your reply is quiet and sincere and when the conversation stalls it is not nearly as awkward as you think it should be.

 

For a long time you stand there in the middle of the loft, staring at Albus while he stares back at you and you cannot help but wonder what kind of person could hurt someone like him. It doesn’t feel like years have passed between you since the last time you’d seen one another and the seamlessness of your reunion is a bitter pill to swallow. You had been wrong to fault him for following his dreams, you had known it then and you still knew it, even after all this time.

 

Albus clears his throat and shifts your thoughts back to reality and you smile and card fingers through your hair again. “So listen,” He says, and the nervousness you can clearly hear in his voice is so endearing that it makes your heart hurt. “Come down to The Square tonight and see the show, yeah?” Albus knows he taking a risk asking you out tonight and he is unsure if this is a terrible idea, but he doesn’t care because he’s always lived by his impulses.  It scares him how being around you again makes him feel and he doesn’t think he can walk out of here unless he knows that you’ll agree and so he holds his breath and waits.

 

His request catches you off guard like the entirety of his visit and you stare blankly at him for a moment before responding. A voice in the back of your mind kindly points out that Albus still doesn’t know about Jamie but you ignore it because you can’t bear the thought of breaking Albus a second time. “It’s been a while,” You murmur more to yourself than anyone, a faint smile curving your mouth upwards. “Of course, wouldn’t miss it.” You say when Albus blows out his held breath you politely pretend not to notice.

 

By the time you are stepping out of the loft and heading down to The Square, the sun has already set. You can hear the sounds of living before you even reach the central part of down town and a small part of you remembers that this was one of the things you used to love about this place the most. The marquee out front of the concert hall was lit up with huge letters that spelled out the name of Albus’ band and the crowds of people swarming about out front intimidated you. You had known that Albus had become exceedingly successful, but you had not been prepared for this level of insanity. The queue for the will call window was thankfully a short one and by the time your muggle ID card had been checked and re-checked and re-re-checked, you were offered a special lanyard pass and escorted to the backstage area. The walk through the theater was surreal and you couldn’t fight the buzzing in your ears as you realized how brilliantly Albus had managed to do without you. He was sixteen years old when he left to follow his dreams and nothing, not life or love, had gotten in his way. Albus had never needed you to succeed, and although you were happy for him, you were also a little bit disappointed too.

 

“Scor!” Albus’ voice in your ear instantly cut right through the deafening buzz of anxiety and shook you back to reality. “Come on, I want to show you off!” He added with a grin as he grabbed your hand and tugged you off towards a cluster of sofas and chairs that made up the backstage lounge. His actions caught you so completely off guard that you were rigid. Your head swam with forgotten emotions and new distress and it was in that precise moment that you wondered once again if this was some sort of nightmare because dreams were never this vivid.

 

Albus kept your hand securely fixed in his as he carted you around to just about every member of his team and introduced you as his _first muse._ It wasn’t nearly as difficult as it should have been to hide the shock and fear as your hand slid into countless hands. You felt like you were on a stage of your very own and every eye in the place was on you and although you would have liked to bask in the moment, you found it extremely crippling instead. You have lived in solitude for so long that you are no longer capable of processing this level of living. Each second that ticks by is like a warning cry from a time bomb that is just waiting to go off. You know that Albus is just doing what he does best and you don’t fault him for his excitement, but at the same time you cannot help but wonder if he ever really knew you at all. The Albus you thought you knew when you were a child would have been able to see the anguish behind your eyes and would have just _known_ that something was wrong, at least you think he would have. The memories have been twisted around inside of your head for so long that you aren’t really sure anymore.

 

No one will ever understand you because you are not something to be understood.

 

You find solace in the shadows on the side of the stage as you watch Albus and his band and you smile and sing along to the few old songs that you still remember. You feel out of place and out of time and although you truly wish that this could be the start of something good, you know that it is really just another goodbye that will tear you apart.

 

Albus shines on stage like you had always known he would, even at eleven years old. You smile proudly as you watch him give everything he’s got to the crowd of people that are all screaming his name and you understand how they feel because you used to be right there with them. His words and his music bring tears to your eyes and you feel calm and serene in ways that you have never felt before. Albus is an angel, you know that now, and an angel with a destiny like that has no business with someone like you. You know that you could drown Albus on your despair without even thinking about it and it scares you because you think that he would let you. You’ve seen it in his eyes tonight more than ever before.

  
When the show is done and the very last encore complete you find yourself sitting on a countertop in a dressing room backstage, watching as Albus changes out of his clothes and runs his fingers through his jet-black hair. You feel like a child out after curfew and you will always be thankful to Albus for waking you up and making you realize who you really are.

 

The sun is just preparing to rise when Albus follows you back to the loft, and although you would like nothing more than to drag him inside and drown on him, you know that is the last thing that either of you really need. 

 

“Thanks for coming out to see me tonight.” He says behind you as you fiddle with the muggle lock on the door, and you close your eyes and smile to yourself.

 

“Thanks for inviting me out.” You say as you turn around to face him, and when you take a step away from the door and closer to him, his expression softens.

 

“It was really, _really_ good seeing you.” He murmurs while gazing at your lips.

 

“Thank you,” You say again, and when you reach up and touch the side of his face with your fingertips, his eyes flutter closed.

 

“For what?” He asks dryly, eyes still closed.

 

“For reminding me of what I am.” You say, and before he can think to respond you lean close and kiss him softly.

 

His lips send electric impulses of long-suppressed emotions coursing through your veins and although you think that you have control of this situation, you really do not. This is all Albus needs to reciprocate your advances and before you realize it he has you pressed up against your still-closed door and is snogging you like his life depends on it. Your arms slide around his neck and your fingers twist in soft strands of raven hair and just when it feels like your heart is about to burst, your mouths part and he pulls back just enough to pant softly against your still open mouth.

 

“What are you?” He asks between panted breaths, and the way his emerald gaze pierces you reaches clear down into your soul.

 

“Your first muse.” You say with a faint smile and when he kisses you again, you let the intensity of the moment guide you, at least for a little while.

 

By the time Albus is reluctantly taking his leave, your mouth is kiss swollen and your heart is aching from being twisted so tightly. You know he wanted to stay, even if he would never ask, which is what made it so much easier not to offer. When you are alone inside of the loft you strip off the extra layers of clothing you wore and you step up to your canvas and take up your brush. You will spend the entire day working feverishly on capturing the marsh behind the Potter house in Godric’s Hollow _just_ right because you want to make a lasting impression. What you will never know is that you have already made a permanent impression that you simply fail to recognize because self-depreciation is your best friend. By the time you are casting the last of the integration charms upon you finished painting the sun has once again set and every part of you is aching with exhaustion and anticipation.

 

You post two separate parcels that night—One to Dorset and one to Albus, who is coincidently, in town. You feel nothing at all as you watch your owl disappear into the night sky with a letter for James and you wonder if he will ever be able to understand.  You feel as though your time with Jamie has always been tainted and that you never really got a chance to know the real _Chaser Extraordinaire_. Your relationship had begun with an end and it would end just the same. You whisper a silent prayer for James as you ascend a set of metal stairs and when you reach the top you smile because you realize that James Sirius Potter does not need your prayers at all.

 

When you climb onto the edge of your building you feel like a small child sitting in a chair much to big for him. Your legs dangle over the concrete ledge and you cannot resist swinging them. You smile as you stare at the skyline and watch as the purples and deep blues slowly start to fade into lighter blues and greys. You find yourself taking stock of your life in the fleeting moments before day meets night and you wonder what you would do differently if you could do it all over again. You are unsure of where to place the blame of your failures and so you push them aside and heave a deep sigh. It would be so easy to say that this wasn’t supposed to be your destiny, but as it turns out maybe you believe in that one just a little bit after all.

 

The last thing you see before you fall is the first ray of sunshine and it reminds you of Albus. The pavement comes rushing up to greet you in a painful embrace that reminds you of Jamie and when the light abandons your eyes, you leave behind the most striking piece of art you’ve ever created.

 

 

   ∞

 

It is two weeks later that find the entire Potter clan back in Godric’s Hollow all at once for the first time in a long time.  Albus has been sitting in the swing on the back porch for two whole days staring out into the marsh and his parents are unsure of what to do next. He feels numb and cheated and he doesn’t understand why this is happening to him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not now and not you. He wants to cry because it isn’t fair that he had to find you to lose you all over again but he doesn’t have any more tears left to cry and so he stares out into the weedy marsh and replays his last moments with you on loop in his mind.

 

He doesn’t hear the creak of the screen door as James steps out onto the back porch and he barely acknowledges the movement of the swing when his brother sits down beside him. “Something in the post for you.” James says with far more delicacy than he has ever been known to possess. “Was some sort of mix up, I wager it’s been in transit for at least two weeks.” James looks directly at Albus as he slides a large brown package towards him.

 

Albus stares down at the package at his feet for a long moment before he reaches for it, failing to make the connection to its size and shape.  When he tears open a corner and sees a strip of white canvas peeking through he freezes and his resolve shatters because he realizes that it can only be from one person. James watches in silence as his brother tears frantically at the wrappings and when it is all said and done he is left staring down at a finished canvas in his lap.  The brothers watch in silence as the textured depiction of the marsh sways and comes to life before their eyes. Albus has never seen anything like your painting and he can hardly remember to breath as he watches the massive English Oak sprout up from painted earth and take shape in the sky. He glances up at the living version of the tree and the tears that had failed him previously, return in kind.

 

James says nothing at all because he isn’t sure how to navigate this type of situation. It was obvious to him that Albus didn’t know anything about his relationship with you and it is this exact moment that he decides that he cannot be the final crack in his brother's heart. He will carry the secrecy of your relationship with him to his grave and he will mourn quietly because that is how James Potter survives. When he looks at your canvas in Albus’ possession he isn’t jealous, he is happy. James understands why you have done what you did even if he thinks you are terribly stupid. He will live with the regret of failing you even if you have already assured him that it was never his burden to bear, because that is also who he is.

 

When the Potter brothers abandon the porch swing and head into the marsh they are not yet aware that they are bonded in ways that have nothing to do with blood. Like most brothers they have shared their fair share of highs and lows, but they have also shared in holding a flickering candle in a sea of darkness that will never be forgotten.

 

Even if for just a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> There is quote right in the middle of this piece that I borrowed graciously from one of my literary idols, Chuck Palahniuk. If you don't know which book it is from, fuck off we're not friends. :P


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